


He Stoops To Conquer

by LostMyWayTwice



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An Unexpected Journey, Angst and Humor, Asexual Relationship, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bilbo-centric, Childhood Trauma, Cultural Differences, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Gen, Hobbits are extremely sexually repressed, Hobbits traumatise their children about sex, Homosexuality, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nori is a Little Shit, Sexual Tension, The Shire, Thorin is a Softie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostMyWayTwice/pseuds/LostMyWayTwice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in love was everything wonderful, poems, sunsets, holding hands and enjoying the simple gift of the company of your someone. The someone who had chosen you above all the others, the someone who made life brighter and the birds sing louder. </p><p>Whilst… relations were skin on skin, red in tooth and claw, the most base, primal instinct that turned the best of men into ravenous beasts and clean, respectable women into brazen whores. The sentimental called it love-making, the crude called it fucking, and the rational called it ‘merely a way to preserve the race.’</p><p>For Bilbo Baggins, it meant the worst kind of trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begonia

_The schoolhouse was quieter than usual, and the air thicker somehow._

_The midday sun sent crisp beams of light through the single glass window, dancing across the rosy faces of the children sat patiently at their desks._

_They  would much rather be playing outside in the sunshine, chasing butterflies or paddling in the cool stream where if you were quick, you could catch little silver fish._

_Instead, they’d been bundled into their best clothes and hurried away to school._

_“But we don’t have lessons today!” they protested, as they were held tight in the grip of the authority and marched up the dirt path leading to the red painted door which was dreaded and familiar._

_“Oh yes you do! Now come along.”_

_The teacher, Petunia Chubb, a beady eyed trout of a hobbit woman who was feared by all and was severe at the best of times; now seemed doubly serious today, morose even._

_“Today my dears-” she croaked, scratching over some letters on the chalkboard with her bony fingers._

_Written in bone white against the black, was a word Bilbo had never seen before._

_A-N-A-T-O-M-Y_

_And, underneath that:_

_I-N-T-E-R-C-O-U-R-S-E_

_“It is my… questionable privilege to teach you today about how children, like yourself, are made...”_

_Bell Goodchild raised a chubby hand and asked in her squeaky voice “I thought babbies came out of blackberry bushes, that’s what my Nanna said.”_

_“Stuff and nonsense!” snapped Chubb, making Bell sniffle and whimper._

_Ignoring her, Chubb picked up a heavy tomb from the bookcase and studied it. Then, her unflinching gazed passed over her class. “Very well, let us begin.”_

_At first, it was terribly exciting, Bilbo felt very grown up and puffed out his chest. Proud._

_In his mind, ten years very grown up indeed._

 

\---

 

And now, forty years later, Bilbo Baggins was having a problem with lust.

Not _his_ lust. He knew better than to seek the selfish desires of the flesh, to go out in search of a partner like some sordid creature in heat; to prowl the country side and howl until he found a mate to satisfy the wanton burning in his soul.

No. He knew better.

He was a Baggins of Bag End. First son of Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins.

A respectable hobbit.

Just because he wasn’t there now, with his kettle and books and his armchair; it did not give him permission to let his standards slip. Moral fibre was worth its weight in gold to a hobbit.

But let’s start from the beginning.

The Baggins’s were well known or being completely and utterly predictable, if you asked a Baggins a question you knew exactly what he would say before he would even say it.

Consistent. Reliable. Not unusual in any shape or form.

So the idea that Bilbo Baggins would be off on an _adventure_ with 13 dwarves to help reclaim a lost homeland from a terrifying dragon was _absurd._

So much so, that poor Bilbo fainted when it was put forth to him. That, and the word _incineration._

But Bilbo could not deny that the feeling of wind passing through his hair, the blur of the smials as he paced by, and the beat of his racing heart as he raced to catch up with Thorin Oakenshield’s company was so thrilling it was practically _obscene._

Surly it was unreasonable that a hobbit like himself should be having so much fun? What of his good name?

For a dangerous moment, Bilbo forget to care about these things. And he was happy.

Once he reached the band of dwarves the precious adrenaline of _I’m going on an adventure!_ Had worn off, and his hastily signed contract was read and approved by a white bearded fellow by the name of… Balin? (He wasn’t certain of his new companions’ names yet).

Henceforth he was settled, despite his protests, on what appeared to be a very temperamental pony and began the steady march of their peculiar little group towards the vague direction of the lonely mountain.

Into possible oblivion, or triumph.

\---

 

_In one afternoon on a summer’s day, He learned every single ugly detail there was to know about how a male and female hobbit may go about reproducing._

_Words like **fluids** , and **orifices** , would be burned onto his mind like a cattle brand for as long as he lived._

 

\---

 

The first days passed uneventfully, slowly as they made only the tiniest headway on what would be months of travel through lands full of perils for a tiny hobbit.

But Bilbo found himself not worrying so much.

Despite his thighs and backside aching from sitting in a wobbly saddle, and his pony huffing and blowing from being burdened with such an unexperienced rider; Bilbo settled into a sense of security that in hindsight was stupidly premature.

But in fairness, his surroundings gave no indication of anything sinister, the birds sung, the trees whistling quietly with the wind and the sun rose and fell with each day as it should.

The dwarves seemed a jolly lot, and not that as disagreeable as traveling companions.

At _first._

Till now, he’d been left undisturbed by them. He happily fell back to the rear…well, that was where his pony liked to be, and cared not that no one had made the effort to approach him yet.

He was a outsider in their midst, a burglar of dubious quality.

A hobbit with little smarts for the wilds was not what they’d had in mind when Gandalf had advertised him as a thief for hire; the old wizard had a talent for exaggeration, or down right white _lying._

It was natural they’d be weary of him.

He had no right to expect anything he didn’t deserve, least of all friendship from a bunch of strangers.  

‘A good hobbit asks for nothing, expects nothing, and he shall be content’ his grandfather had drilled to him every time he came for tea.

And Bilbo knew well it would be quite frankly rude to talk to someone who didn’t wish to talk to you first.

So he sat in on his pony with a quiet, Baggins dignity, being as little a bother as he could manage. Little did he suspect that at that very moment he was being measured by a pair of eyes from the front of the marching line.

 

\---

“Odd Looking, hobbits are.”

“Hmm?”

“The Halfling.”

“What about him?”

“Looks a bit like an elf, don’t you reckon?”

“Forgive me, but I have had little free time to stare at Master Baggins. He’s just another member of this company. Hopefully he’ll be useful to us.”

“Hmph. As you like.”

\---

 

_Diagrams, passed down through the years, used to teach their parents, now it was them that needed to be taught._

_There was one Bilbo remembered well._

_Two hobbits, a male and female, engaged with each other. Snarling features, distorted limps, rolling eyeballs._

_Bilbo nearly collapsed from his chair in his shock._

_His father had done that to his **mother.**_

_“As you can see…” Chubb drawled. “Impregnation is only possible if proper penetration is achieved-”_

 

\---

 

 Soon, one by one, carefully and cautiously, the dwarves began to include Bilbo in their conversations.

Once they’d all deduced that they had nothing to fear from him, the company became rather curious (even a bit nosy) about hobbits and their habits.

And in return for his patience, Bilbo could ask questions of his own.

“I know this must sound terribly rude but… what are the beards for?”

Bofur nearly fell from his saddle in laughter.

“Oh laddie… you’re alright, bit eccentric, but who isn’t?”

Thorin was the only one who didn’t extend his ‘welcome’ as it were. It seemed he was far too important for such things as speaking to a lowly hobbit.

Although he would glance around from time to time, to make sure Bilbo was keeping pace with the company. If not, he would bark “try and keep up Master Hobbit” which after the first dozen or so times was becoming a grate on Bilbo’s nerves.

And he had a great many.

 At first, the pleasantries of chit chat were nothing other than a way to alleviate the boredom of travel.

“Fine day I’d say Master Baggins.”

“Oh yes, isn’t it?”

But as the dwarves became more accustomed to his presence, the topics of their discussions turned… in quite an unexpected direction.

It turned to… _sex._

\---

 

_“Duty. Not pleasure. Simple as that.” Teacher had said into the wide eyes of the children collected in front of her._

_Bell Goodchild, bless her, with her simple childish curiosity once more raised her hand. “Does it hurt?”_

_Chubb looked down at her with a glare. “Of course! The pain is there to keep the any unwanted pleasure at bay.”_

 

\---

 

Only hussies and moral degenerates enjoyed intercourse.

That’s how he was taught.

Dwarves, as it happened were very _different_ in their attitude.

Never, in all his fifty years, had Bilbo ever met such a… a lecherous lot in all his life.  

The _things_ they talked about, most of it hardly bared repeating.

The bawdy jokes about couples doing the _unspeakable_ were frequented over the camp fire, with Bofur often being the worst offender. A pity, Bilbo had rather liked him, but his quip about the fisherman and his fishing _pole_ made him queasy.

The others laughed, and joined in, as if it were nothing.

Worse still, it seemed that Bilbo’s pale shocked silence only encouraged them instead of inhibiting them.

As if copulation was a cause of _amusement_ , as if it wasn’t a solemn duty that every married couple was required to perform to preserve the integrity of their race.

Love, real honest _love,_ was an entirely different matter. Not to be tainted but the bodies foul desires.

Bilbo loved his mother and father, and they had loved him.

When Bilbo had enquired about his lack of siblings after noticing that the size of most hobbit families was double their own, his mother explained that she and Bungo loved Bilbo so much they didn’t need another baby.

But he’d learned later that was a lie.

Something had gone wrong, when his parents had come together. His mother was hurt somehow… one the inside. Bilbo was born, but they could not bear another.

He was rather confused about the whole affair, what by all that was green was so fascinating about _that?_

By the sounds of it (not that he wished to hear) dwarves were free and frequent in their personal affairs… so why did they talk of it so much?

At first, he tried to quietly reason with himself about what was happening. _Okay, alright then, I’m sure this is nothing more than a bit of culture shock,_ _I’ve lived a very sheltered life… dwarves obviously do things differently._

But then, _then_ , one faithful night the attention turned to him.

Everyone was in fits about some quip Nori had made about the barmaid at the Prancing Pony, and he seemed to notice that Bilbo was not bent over with mirth as the others were.

“Master Baggins doesn’t like my jokes, I reckon.” he chuckled. “Bit too risqué for your tastes? Eh lad?”

Bilbo ignored the deliberate prodding of his sensibilities. “Hobbits have a different sense of humour I suppose.”

Nori wriggled his braided eyebrows. “Oh come on now, it’s all good fun! Have you heard the one about the dwarf lass with the long _beard?”_

There were a couple of excited whoops before Nori’s oldest brother, Dori, silver haired with a prominent nose decided to put his foot down on his brother’s behaviour. “No, and we would not like to hear it in the proximity of young ears, thank you!”

The thief swatted away his brother’s warning as casually as one does a fly, he lit his pipe and began to smoke heartily.

 

\---

_He ran all the way home in tears._

\---

Bilbo let out a breath of relief, next to him, Bofur slung his arm over Bilbo’s shoulders and gave him a twinkle eyed look.

“Ah, don’t pay him no mind, Nori likes to be _controversial,_ he’s just winding you up because you’re the new blood. Does it to everyone.”

Bilbo’s nose twitched as he thought. “Sorry Bofur.” He said darkly. “I don’t find _fucking_ very funny.”

Like the flip if a coin, the mood around the campfire changed.

A Stilted, awkward hush followed Bilbo’s remark until Balin broke it. “Now laddie, there’s no need to be so crude.”

Bilbo was flabbergasted. “ _I’m_ being crude? _Me?_ He’s the one that was going on about, about lasses with _long beards_ and _Yavanna_ knows what else!”

“It was only a joke.” Nori defended, then muttered. “Mahal wept.”

“I do believe that’s enough for one evening.” Came the aged, wise voice of Gandalf, who had been taking a lone walk but had returned to find the hobbit spitting with rage and the dwarves siting in perplexed silence.

Thorin, who’d been observing the proceedings leaning on a nearby tree, had looked as if he was preparing to step in; but the wizard had spared him the trouble.

 Instead he simply added “Yes, douse the fire and get to your bedrolls. We have a long march tomorrow.”

The dwarves took the order and began to disperse for the night. The out was put out and the families all gathered together in separated corners to sleep.

Gandalf laid a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder as he passed. “Dear fellow-“

“It’s disgusting, Gandalf…” he grumbled, his anger fading now. “The way they talk…”

A melancholy settled over Gandalf’s face, he smoothed the creases of Bilbo’s jacket with his thumb. “My dear Bilbo.” He said. “I am so glad you decided to come with us. There is… much for you to learn.”

Bilbo frowned, not understanding Gandalf’s meaning.

Thorin brushed past them to make his bed in the centre of the company, and Bilbo would have sworn he felt the dwarf’s finger tips brush against his own.

He shivered. 


	2. Hyacinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd just add a little note, a 10 year hobbit would be only 6 years old in human terms as they age at different rates.

 

_As soon as his feet reached home, Bilbo locked himself in his room._

_He ignored the gentle enquires of his mother, the knocking, and the eventual order from his father to show himself and stop acting like child._

_But Bilbo **was** still a child, and his entire innocent world had been completely torn asunder. _

_All day he stayed hidden under his bed, not moving even for supper, just thinking and crying._

_He cried until his cheeks burned with the salt from his tears._

_Worse still, he would never enter his mother’s embrace without wincing at the feel of her soft midsection against him own._

_Her… **womb** , where he had sprung from. _

_“I told you he was too young for the teaching!” Bilbo could hear his mother’s voice.  “We should have sent him next year!”_

_“This is good for him!” came the tones of his father. “He needs to grow up.”_

_Bilbo put his hands over his ears and shut his eyes tight, wishing everyone would just disappear._

_He didn’t want to grow up._

\---

 

That night, Bilbo Baggins had uncomfortable dreams.

.

He was following the winding path of a stream, the water was so clear and still that it reflected a perfect image of the midnight moon in the sky.

Bilbo could hear no crickets, no frogs or any other rustlings that you would normally hear on a summer’s night. Nor was there a breeze of any kind.

As he approached the bank of the stream, the water began to hum and give off an inviting sort of glow.

For whatever reason, Bilbo was compelled to remove his clothes. Off went his waistcoat, his braces, his trousers and in turn each garment disappeared into nothingness as they hit the ground.

Once he was naked, the hobbit felt weightless and unburdened and almost in a trace he stepped into the water; submerging only his ankles at first.

He had not bathed in nature since he was a child, and great feelings of happiness and peace spread through him.

The water was deliciously cool and refreshing. It swirled around his feet and seemed to beckon Bilbo in further with smooth, wet hands.

The hobbit, suddenly overcoming a lifelong fear of deep water, waded in and as he drew nearer the centre if the stream he could no longer see or feel the sandy banks.

He floated like a leaf, not having to struggle or paddle as he normally would.

For a while, he was utterly content.

Then, he felt something brush past his thigh.

Bilbo looked down to see a great black shape circling him underneath the surface. It was larger than any fish he’d ever seen and moved elegantly like an otter.

When he reached out to touch it, it swam out of his reach then resumed its path.

After a while of this game of chase, the fish-thing finally stopped  circling and emerged from the water.

The head, and long flowing ebony hair of a mermaid arouse, dripping and silky. 

He could not see the mermaid’s eyes for they were covered by her miles and miles of hair.

She seemed to smile at him and took his face her clammy fish like fin.

“Will you be my lover?” she whispered.

Before Bilbo could answer, the mermaid plunged them both into the dark depths of the stream.

The light from the moon faded into blackness and they sank deeper and deeper.

.

Bilbo woke gasping for air, his the skin of his forehead slick with sweat and panicked when all he could see around him was darkness.

Then after a second of floundering he remembered where he was.

The low snores of the still slumbering company were an odd comfort, and he was relieved to not be choking on water.

As he moved, Bilbo felt and strange dampness underneath him, as if he’d made him bedroll on wet ground. Too weary to think anything else of it, he yawned, fell back and was asleep again.

This time, he did not dream.

\---

“ _Manners are not simply a coat to be taken on and off in fair or foul weather-” his father explained, straightening Bilbo’s waistcoat with a sharp tug._

 

_“No, my boy, manners speak volumes about a hobbit’s upbringing. We are not ploughman, or ill-bred kitchen hands, we are gentle hobbits. We have a good name to keep.”_

_Bilbo made no comment, he stared at a section of wall behind his father’s head._

 

 

_The cuckoo clock read just past tea time._

\---

 

When morning did come around, Bilbo was still dosing until Bifur came and woke him.

He gave Bilbo a quite the fright.

When the hobbit opened his eyes he saw the _axe_ , which was impeded in the dwarf’s skull (Bilbo did not even want to _know_ ) hovering only inches from his face.

He squeaked, and was suddenly very alert after only being asleep mere seconds ago.

Bifur sadly could not speak in the common tongue due to his unfortunate injury, and was only about to communicate via grunts and the khuzd equivalent of sign language: _Iglishmêk._

Bilbo spoke neither Khuzdal nor Iglishmêk, so most of the time he was at a loss as to what Bifur was saying. But he could interpret well enough what being shook awake and pointing to the pot cooking over the campfire meant.

The hobbit thanked Bifur meekly and the dwarf signed… something, before going off to get his share of breakfast.

As the hobbit pulled back his blankets to get up from his bedroll, he noticed a damp patch on his trouser leg and for a moment couldn’t think how it might’ve have gotten there.

That’s when he remembered his _dream_ , and waking up in the middle of the night.

He’d… _spilled_ all over himself in his sleep.

Right in front of the company. 

He was _unclean._

All Bilbo could do was sit in shock, staring at the dark stain on his trousers; he wanted to weep in the shame of it.

He needed to bathe, right now, before anyone noticed.  

Scrambling up, the hobbit frantically searched for the spare set of clothes he’d brought with him for the journey.

As fast as he could manage he ran from camp, passing a few of the dwarfs who called after him but he ignored them all and headed towards a small brook they had used to collect water the day before.

\---

“Where is the halfling?”

“I thought I saw him run off in that direction.”

“Why exactly?”

“To have a wash I think, I said good morning, but he didn’t answer. Now that I think about it… he seemed a bit upset.”

“Upset? About what?”

“Dunno. Probably nothing. Hobbits are fussy little things.”

“…he has been gone some time now.”

“Do you want us to fetch him?”

“No. Give him until he pack up the ponies. Then you may go looking.”

\---

 

Bilbo held back a sob as he scrubbed the flesh of his stomach which was becoming red raw with his work, as were his fingers and genitals.

He wondered if he’d ever feel clean again.

The water was frigid and biting, a stark contrast from his dream.

The hobbit had considered burning his ruined trousers to hide the evidence of his crime; but instead, he had buried them in the ground along with his shirt and the set underclothes he’d been wearing.

His heart hurt to cast aside could clothes, but nothing could be done after they’d been soiled thusly.

Bilbo could not understand how this could have happened, he had not had a... night time emission since he was a young buck; when he was at the mercy of his developing body.

Before he had learned to control himself. 

Now he was a full grown hobbit, an adult.

But adults did not conjure up wicked dreams and mess the bed linens.

He was a disgrace. 

After a quarter of an hour of purging his body Bilbo began to shiver, the chill of the water and the mild morning breeze was setting in.

 With shaking hands he dressed himself in his spare clothes, wincing as his sore fingers worked to do up the buttons on his waistcoat.

He wanted to look at least a little respectable when he joined the others.

 

\---

_"But why can’t I play with Bell and Lobelia?” Bilbo asked with a soulful expression a child gets when wounded unjustly. “We were going to look for faeries.”_

_His father scowled. He scowled rather often these days. “Out of the question. You are far too old to carry on in such a way now.”_

_From her chair, Belladonna looked as if she wanted to say something; it was clear from the lines in the corner of her lips, but instead she increased the pace of her knitting._

_“You are very quickly maturing, Bilbo, and a mature hobbit must not expose himself to temptation by frolicking with females.”_

_Bilbo creased his brow. “Do you mean that I might want to do sex with Lobelia and Bell?”_

_His father’s hand seized his ear and was pulling him out of the room with a furious speed._

_“Bungo-!” Belladonna called, but she would be unwise to come between Bilbo’s father and his rage._

_“I’ll not have such profanity in my house!”_

\---

 

When Bilbo emerged from the trees, he saw that the company was already to leave. Most were sat on their ponies in anticipation while others were tightening the straps that held their packs to the beasts.

They all turned to look at him as he bustled into the clearing.

Well. So much for sneaking back unseen.

“Ah, Bilbo, there you are.” Greeted Gandalf cheerily. “We were just about to go hunting for you, where did you go, dear fellow?”

Bilbo shuffled on his feet. “Just for a walk.”

Thorin was scowling down at him from atop his pony. “You’ve delayed us, Halfing, and you wondered off without telling anyone where you were going. These lands are full of dangers, if you had come across trouble we would not have known, remember that next time you decide to go for a _walk._ ”

Bilbo puffed angrily up at being spoken to like an errant child. “I beg your pardon, your _majesty,_ but I am not one of your subjects! So you do not get to boss me around.”

Thorin looked a little surprised at Bilbo’s outburst, but soon came back to himself. “Be that as it may, Halfling, you signed a contract, therefore you are part of this company so you will do as you our told. _”_

“I have a name!” Bilbo snapped. “It’s actually on the _contract_ I believe!”

The others had gone very quiet indeed.

“ _Master Baggins.”_ The dwarf king growled. “I know not what you encountered on your walk to put you in such a foul mood, but I will not waste any more time arguing with you.” He indicated with his head. “Mount your pony. _”_

The thought of sitting in the saddle with his… nether regions still smarting was just as awful as it would be painful.

“I think I’d rather not. Thank you.” Bilbo marched over to his pony, now named Myrtle, and took her reigns in his hand, trying to ignore the sting in his fingertips. “I’ll stroll alongside. I can keep up.”

“As you please, Halfling.” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “Now, everyone, _forward.”_

 

\---

_“But Bilbo, won’t we get into trouble?” asked Hildifons._

_“I don’t think so.” Bilbo replied._

_“But my father said that kissing in p-public… is o-obscene.” Hildifons mumbled, struggling with his childhood stutter. “And so did teacher.”_

_“Yes, a girl kissing a boy is bad.” Bilbo explained. “But what about a boy a kissing a boy?”_

_Hildifons bit his lip and wrung his hands. “I-I don’t know.”_

_Bilbo looked into his friend’s eyes. “I just want to know what it feels like.”_

_Not knowing what else to do, Bilbo leaned in._

\---

 

Once again, the company was on the road, and, if Bilbo was correct then they weren’t too far now from the Bridge Inn; a nice little tavern on the bank of the Brandywine river.

The thought of a warm bed, good food and perhaps even a room of his own for just one glorious night was enough to take Bilbo’s mood to a sunnier place; so much so that, despite himself he began to hum to a little tune from his childhood.

The words were long lost, but he recalled enough the notes of the song.

“Oi, Oi! Mister Baggins!”

Bilbo saw that Nori was urging his pony on to come in step with Myrtle, remembering his… ungentlemanly outburst of last night Bilbo felt heat creeping up the back of his neck.

He was surprised that the thief was approaching him, without any clear signs of harbouring resentment.

“Ello, Master Baggins.” Nori beamed at him. “Enjoying the view, eh?”

“Yes, it’s… very nice.”  Bilbo said carefully.

Nori chuckled. “I gotta admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Had what?”

“Standing up to Thorin of course!” Nori declared. “You’re a feisty little when you get going aren’t you?”

Bilbo gently stroked Mrytle’s muzzle. “Well, I’d tell Thorin to mind his manners if he had any.”

The thief let out a laugh and gave Bilbo wink. “Dwarves don’t really go in for _etiquette_ I’m afraid. Unless your my brother.” He let out a groan. “Mahal, two peas in a pod you are. Just what I need.”

They settled into quiet, until Bilbo rallied his courage and cleared his throat. “Ahem, about the other night-”

Nori looked at him inquisitively.

“I offer my, umm, my humble apologies. I didn't mean to lose my temper. It just… gets away from me sometimes.”

The thief raised his braided eyebrows. “Oh _that_ , I’d forgotten all about it, but consider your apology accepted, Master Baggins.” He extended a pale hand, ringed hand in Bilbo’s direction.

The hobbit, rather than taking it immediately, plucked from the nearby grass some bluebells that were growing by his feet. 

He placed them into Nori’s fist, who frowned in puzzlement. “What this?”

“Blue Bells mean ‘forgive me.” Bilbo told him.

A flicker of emotion passed over the thief’s face. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Then, take them as a gift.” Bilbo said sincerely.

Nori looked thoughtful, then stuffed the bluebells into coat with a soft thank you and ushered his pony on.

Bilbo watched him go, and began to hum again.


	3. Evening Primrose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, sorry for the delay! I've just moved back into my parents house for the summer x

_Bilbo was often one to go off on adventures._

_He let his feet lead the way ,and he was carried off down the dirt path and into the forest; where the elves might be hiding._

_He hoped to see a real one when he grew up._

_Sometimes, Bilbo would become so lost in his own little world that hours would pass in the blink of an eye; when he thought to look up at the sun, he was already late for dinner._

_Father would not approve._

_He might get out the leather strap he kept in his desk, take Bilbo’s palm and say “This hurts me more than it hurts you, my boy” before striking him._

_Late for dinner meant five lashes._

_Getting dirty meant seven lashes and no sweets._

_But both?_

_Bilbo stuffed his hands into his pockets and sat down on the soft grass._

_He decided to sleep in the forest tonight._

_The elves would look after him._

\---

Bilbo had not visited the Bridge Inn for many a year, but it looked much the same as it did the last time he was there.

The windows were a pale yellow from the candles lighted within, which shone brightly now the sun was beginning to set. The Inn was constructed mostly of timber, it had become weather beaten over years of rain, snow, and winds.

The roof had lost a few tiles and the yard and been flattened by the shoes of many a man and horse.

But despite its age, it still looked cheerful and welcoming. At least to Bilbo.

Thorin quickly unmounted his pony and gave the order for the company to do the same but hold for a while so he and Gandalf could have a wrd with the inn keeper.

Bilbo, now seeing the Inn for the first time in decades, did not think there would be enough rooms for 13 dwarves and a hobbit.

So undoubtedly they would have to share.

His heart sank a little at the notion, he was very… _very_ particular about his own privacy.Which, granted, you did not have much of while travelling.

The company ate together, slept together, washed and… completed other ablutions all within a few feet of each other.

Bilbo had to suffer the downright undignified task of searching for a tree to piss against during the night, only to find Gloin doing the same. The dwarf already had his trousers down and had greeted Bilbo with a brief nod.

The hobbit was so horrified that he fled back to his bedroll and steeled himself to wait till morning.

But being in a room with four solid walls, a warm fireplace, and a real _bed_ with pillows and sheets would make it all worth it.

Thorin and Gandalf returned briskly from what Bilbo could only assume was a peaceful encounter with the Inn Keeper. Gandalf always had an irritating air of mystery about him and gave nothing away, and Thorin, well, he always looked grumpy.

“What’s the word then, Thorin?” asked Dwalin.

“We will have beds for tonight, and hot food-” the dwarves murmured happily among themselves. “However, our funds could only secure us seven rooms.”

“I, of course, cannot share with any of you, and Thorin for reasons of his own requires his own room.” Gandalf added.

Bilbo bit his tongue to prevent any unrespectable words spilling out. He settled to glare at them both. _Isn’t it wonderful to be king? Or a wizard. What are we supposed to be? Peasants?_

 “So I suggest that we split ourselves into-” Gandalf quickly counted, “two sets of three, and three sets of two. Quickly now.”

After a bit of mix up with the numbers, the dwarves sorted themselves in no time, most chose to stay with their own families which left Bilbo in what you might call a pickle.

He stood dumbly by Myrtle as the others gathered in their pairs and threes.

“Are we all- oh, Bilbo, dear boy, I almost forgot about you.”

“Thanks ever so.” Bilbo grumbled.

“So… who gets the hobbit?” asked Gloin a bit awkwardly. 

After a beat of silence, Thorin stepped forward. “Master Baggins, I will-” he didn’t need to finish, Bilbo knew what the dwarf was going to say.

He was going to suggest they share a room together.

They’d be alone.

Two unmarried males. In the same room, at an Inn. At _night._

If anyone Bilbo knew saw them, the gossip would circulate around the Shire for _years._

“No!” he objected, too quickly, and they all stared at him.

 He tried to double back. “T-That is, why don’t we draw lots? It’ll be fairer wont it?”

Thorin frowned in his confusion. “That would waste time, why would you need to draw lots when you can-”

“ _Please.”_ Bilbo begged, a flush creeping up his neck and colouring his ears. “I haven’t asked you for anything have I?”

Of course, he could explain his objections; but dwarves didn’t care for propriety, and especially not the Dwarf king.

Thunder had begun to stir behind Thorin’s blue irises. “And _what_ exactly, may I ask, is so objectionable about boarding with me, Hobbit?”

Somehow he’d manage to interpret this whole matter as a personal insult, Thorin had a very sensitive pride and Bilbo was currently (unwillingly) prodding at it.

“Maybe he think’s you’ll eat him, Uncle.” Kili quipped, and behind him Fili snorted.

“Quiet!” Thorin barked, then rounded on Bilbo. “In fact, since you refuse to share with me, Master Baggins, you can room with my _nephews_ instead. Is that more acceptable to you?”

Bilbo blanched, that was _not_ more acceptable at all.  “But-”

“It is decided.” Thorin cut him off, very rudely, and then lead the way into the Inn and the dwarves filled in after him. Leaving Bilbo gaping in the yard.

An arm threw itself around the hobbit’s neck and Bilbo was suddenly pressed into the side of Kili, whilst Fili ruffled his hair affectionately. “Don’t worry, Master Baggins! We’ll look after you! Won’t we Kee?”

Kili grinned broadly. “Of course, we will!” and they proceeded to drag him inside.

Bilbo Baggins was not comforted in the least.

\---

_“Hildifons?” Bilbo called into the darkness. “Are you still awake?”_

_“Yes.” Came a whispered reply._

_Bilbo felt hot and clammy under his blankets, he shuffled out of them and sat up on the bed._

_“I can’t sleep.” He confessed._

_“Me neither.” Said Hildifons._

_Bilbo tip toed around what he assumed was his friend wrapped in his blanket and quietly knelt down in front of him._

_Faintly, Bilbo could hear Hildifons’ heartbeat._

_“Can I lie next to you?” He whispered._

_Hildifons shuffled on the floor. “Okay.”_

_Bilbo took his place next to his playmate, getting close enough so that his eyelashes were ruffled by his friend’s warm breath._

_They slept that way till morning came._

\---

Carrying his pack up two flights of stairs was a struggle for Bilbo, who was already fatigued by lots of travel and suffering an empty belly.

The last he’d eaten was a few bites of dry bread and salted meat when the company had stopped for lunch; and that was hours ago.

He hoped it would be supper soon, as did his stomach.

Fili offered to help the hobbit with his things, but Bilbo politely declined; even though he was now sweating and huffing from the effort of hauling his belongings up to their room.

Hobbits did not usually encounter stairs in their lives (apart from a few reasonably sized steps) as their homes were designed to sprawl outwards into the hill in which they were built; not climb upwards like the dwellings of men.

Bilbo could not fathom why an Inn would need so many stairs, other than to embarrass him in front of Fili and Kili.

When he finally made it, Bilbo let out a massive sigh and had to take a moment to catch his breath.

Kili headed straight for the bed at a run and dove onto it, bouncing a little. Apparently, he was ‘testing the springs!’

His brother entered more calmly, taking in his surroundings before letting out a noise of approval and letting his pack drop to the floor.

It was a modest space, Bilbo thought. With cream coloured walls and a wooden beamed ceiling from which hung an oil lamp for their use, but the hobbit was too short to reach it.

On the west wall there was a window that looked over the river and the greenery beyond, and nearby was an armchair that was angled towards a grey brick fireplace.

The bed was of the four-poster kind, and far bigger than any bed Bilbo had seen or slept in.

A great pity, he realised with a heavy heart; that he could not sleep in it. 

He had hoped their would be two beds. One for him, and one for the boys. 

Fili and Kili were brothers, so it perfectly acceptable for them to share a bed; but for Bilbo? His upbringing would not allow such a thing, and they were not out of the Shire’s borders yet.

He looked over to the armchair and wondered how comfortable it was. 

Kili ran his fingers along the soft sheets. “This is some luxury, haven’t had a bed this nice since before we got to Bag end!”

“Hopefully you’ll be out like a light then, and not kick or snore in the night like you usually do.” Fili remarked.

“I do not.” Kili protested.

“Do to.” Fili shot back. “I’ve got the bruises on my back to prove it.”

While the brothers bantered back and forth about their respective sleeping habits, Bilbo occupied himself with unpacking his things for the night. Since he was now wearing the only set of clothes he possessed, Bilbo made a pact with himself that he would keep them in at least decent condition until he could acquire some new ones.

He had been gifted a spare blanket by Bofur for the chilly nights, but he doubted he’d need it here.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kili dodged a pillow aimed for his head by Fili and he merrily skipped over to Bilbo who did not immediately notice his approach. 

“Here, Bilbo, lemme help you-” he took the hobbit’s open pack from him.

Bilbo did not like his possessions being touched, even if the gesture was intended to be helpful. “No, no-no! Its fine I-”

His pack was already open, and as Kili lugged it about some items fell from within it. In particular, a white, flowing nightshirt with lace sleeves hit the wooden floor with a very faint thud.

Kili frowned at it, looked at Bilbo, and then back at the nightwear before plucking it from the ground before Bilbo could stop him.

The young dwarf held it up to the light and let of a bark of laughter. “Mahal’s beard!” he exclaimed. “Master Baggins! What’s this frilly nonsense?”

Fili turned to look over confusedly at them. “What? Is it more of those ‘dollies’?”

The hobbit spluttered indigently at his… most _personal_ of effects being held aloft like a flag, he reached for it only Kili to jump away laughing. “Give that back, you silly boy!”

Were these dwarves all without decorum?

What Kili couldn’t have known was that hobbits looked upon their clothes with the utmost seriousness, and _under_ clothes were only to be seen by their owner or their owner’s spouse.

To Kili, this was a fantastic game, and waved the nightshirt around teasingly just out of Bilbo’s grasp. “Ha, Fili look! Bilbo packed his mother’s under things by mistake!”

The hobbit flushed beet and tried to plead with Kili. “Stop it!” but to no avail, the more frustrated and flustered he became the more the dwarf seemed to be egged on.

Bilbo was simply not fast enough or strong enough to force him to stop. 

Unlike his brother who was too distracted by his fun, Fili took notice of Bilbo’s expression. He was gradually becoming more and more distraught as Kili refused to relinquish the nightshirt. “Alright Kee, that’s enough-” he started.

Kili made an innocent face. “What I’m only-”

In the same second, Bilbo aimed a powerful kick into the young dwarf’s left leg. He had not expected it in the least, and he yelled in pain and surprise as he crumpled to the floor in a heap.

Bilbo retrieved what was his from Kili and curled into a ball by the armchair.

Fili rushed over to help his brother up, his face was ashen. “Kili! Are you okay?”

Kili winced as he stood. “Yeah, fine.”

Heavy quiet passed over the room, all Bilbo could hear was the throb of his own heartbeat. The hobbit shut his eyes as tight as they would go. He wished he could disappear.

“Bilbo…” Kili began, in a futile attempt to make amends. He sounded sincere enough, but Bilbo was too drained and angry to care. “Bilbo, I’m sorry.”

“Leave me alone.” Bilbo’s voice was horse and brittle, politeness be damned. Could they not just leave him in peace?

Without another word, the brothers left the room and shut the door behind them.

Bilbo sat alone, rubbing the tears away with the palms of his hands.

\---

_His grandmother used to say that thunderstorms were caused by the wrath of the creator Yavanna, if you had been a wicked little hobbit, she would know, and make the sky angry._

_There were not many such storms in the Shire, but Bilbo would never forgot one that happened on the eve of his fifteenth birthday._

_The windows rattled, the wind cracked, and Bag End seemed to shake and tremble under the force of the weather outside._

_Bilbo, wide awake, burrowed under his covers to escape the awful din._

_He whimpered, and shivered, knowing logically of course that the Thunder couldn't’ hurt him; but that did not placate his fear._

_His door creaked, and Bilbo peeked over the covers to see it opened a crack; with his mother peeping inside holding a tiny flickering candle._

_“Bilbo?”_

_“Mother.”_

_She entered his bedroom with hushed steps, so not to wake Bilbo’s father._

_She placed the candle on the bedside table before sitting down by her son’s side. She reached out to comb some stay curls from his forehead back behind his ears._

_“Happy Birthday, my boy.” She said._


End file.
